


i can't stop if you can't start

by prettylittlementirosa



Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Post-Canon, Prompt Fill, Trapped In A Closet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:01:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27236173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettylittlementirosa/pseuds/prettylittlementirosa
Summary: His back is pressed up against some sort of shelving unit, arms hanging limply at his sides, and even before his eyes adjust to the darkness in the absence of the glow from the flashlight now dangling uselessly in his hand, he can tell JJ is facing him. There can't be more than an inch between them. Pope angles his head to the side, trying to create the illusion of distance, but JJ still feels impossibly close.(for the prompt: I'd sell my soul for you to write mayward trapped in a closet fic [a real closet not a metaphorical one])
Relationships: JJ/Pope (Outer Banks)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 95





	i can't stop if you can't start

**Author's Note:**

> i wouldn't be me if i didn't take a perfectly innocent prompt and turn into at least mildly angsty future fic so *jazz hands* here ya go.

"Could you be any louder?" Pope hisses, his feet following the glow of his flashlight as it moves across the laminate floor. He can't see JJ's face in the dark but he can feel the look of outrage that's sitting there.

"I haven't even said a word," JJ objects, not at all bothering to keep his voice low, and Pope rolls his eyes.

"Your feet, man," he says. "What are you wearing? Tap shoes?"

"Sorry my shoes aren't made out of fucking marshmallows, dude," JJ bites back. "You didn't have to come, you know."

He's been doing that a lot over the past week—making it clear that he doesn't care one way or the other if Pope is there. It shouldn't hurt. They're not kids anymore. They're not glued to each other's sides. They've been living their own lives for years now. Hell, this is the most they've seen each other since Pope started grad school, and yeah, that's probably his fault. He doesn't come home as often as he should. But he's here now, will be for another week, and it'd be nice if his best friend would stop trying to get rid of him. He should probably just ask JJ why he's being a dick. Air their grievances or whatever.

Instead he says, "Yeah, well, I'm the only one who actually spent any time here. Do you even know where the science lab is?"

"Got a diploma that says I do."

"Yeah? And who'd you have to sleep with to get it?"

He regrets it as soon as it's out of his mouth. JJ might not be the most studious person in the world but he's worked hard to get where he is. Nobody expected him to stay out of prison, much less graduate high school and become a productive member of society. But he's been proving everybody wrong for years and Pope feels like a dick for even implying he's not a thousand percent proud of him.

JJ's not fazed, though, just says, "Wouldn't you like to know" in that tone that means he's wearing a smirk and Pope's not sure if he's kidding or not. His brain automatically supplies him with the image of JJ on his knees in front of their old sweaty, chain-smoking principal, Mr. Berringer—those godawful brown slacks he wore every day pooled around his feet. Pope's seen JJ go home with plenty of questionable flings over the years but their high school principal would be an all time low. 

"I didn't blow Berringer. Stop picturing it," JJ says distractedly, grabbing Pope by the elbow and pulling him to a stop.

Pope's about to ask why they've stopped (and how JJ knew what he was thinking) when he hears it—footsteps echoing in the distance, growing louder and louder by the second. His eyes snap up to JJ's in the dark, wide and full of panic, but before he can start to freak out, JJ's hand is on his chest pushing him back—back, back, back until he makes contact with the wall. Then he's twisting the handle of the door next to where he has Pope pinned against the wall but it won't budge. It's locked.

"I cannot get arrested," Pope whines, and JJ shushes him, grabbing a fistful of his shirt to yank him down the hallway to the next door. It opens easily when he turns the knob, but Pope doesn't have time to send up a thank you to whatever deity's taken pity on him before JJ's thrusting them both inside, pulling the door closed behind him.

It's a utility closet.

They're in a utility closet.

They're in the world's _tiniest_ utility closet and Pope might actually find it funny if it wasn't so ludicrous.

His back is pressed up against some sort of shelving unit, arms hanging limply at his sides, and even before his eyes adjust to the darkness in the absence of the glow from the flashlight now dangling uselessly in his hand, he can tell JJ is facing him. There can't be more than an inch between them. Pope angles his head to the side, trying to create the illusion of distance, but JJ still feels impossibly close.

_Not close enough_.

And wow, right now is really not the time for some long repressed fantasy from college to make it's way back to the surface. Pope tries to push it back down but he can feel JJ's breath ghosting along the length of his neck, and it's so electrifyingly familiar that Pope might actually think they'd traveled back in time to that last weekend JJ visited him in the dorms—the lack of space between their bodies that night a choice, not a circumstance—if it wasn't for the sound of feet traipsing along the hallway floor. For a moment, Pope's worried that the door's going to swing open and they'll be busted but the footsteps fade at the same leisurely pace they came, until eventually they're gone completely.

He breathes a sigh of relief, letting his head fall back against what feels like a can of paint. 

"That was close."

"Yep," JJ agrees.

"Let's get out of here before whoever that was comes back."

"Yeah, about that," JJ hedges, drawing the words out. "The door's locked."

Pope rolls his eyes.

"It's not locked. Closets don't lock from the inside."

"This one does."

"JJ, just open the door."

"Dude, I'm telling you it's locked."

Pope reaches for the handle, ignoring the way JJ contorts his body to give him access, but it doesn't turn. He jiggles it a few times but it stays firmly in place.

"What the fuck," he shrieks, switching his flashlight back on to shine it on the offensively locked door handle. "Who would even install a locking mechanism like this for a closet? Oh my god do you think the janitor is a serial killer and this is where he hides his bodies before he can dispose of them properly?"

"Dude, will you chill out?" JJ says and grabs the flashlight from Pope to set it on one of the shelves behind him, the bulb pointing up towards the ceiling, casting the entire space in a soft glow. It does little to quell Pope's mounting anxiety.

"Chill out? It's the middle of the night and we're trapped in the janitor's closet at a high school we haven't gone to in almost ten years! What do you think is going to happen when the janitor finds us in here tomorrow morning? Because _I_ think he's going to call the cops, JJ."

"Well, the janitor is a Bulgarian woman named Belinda and her interest in handcuffs has nothing to do with law enforcement. Trust me. Besides, it's a Saturday night in the middle of summer. Nobody's coming here tomorrow."

"Oh my god we're going to die in here."

"Or we could just call Kie?"

And yeah... yeah. They could just call Kie. That is a solid plan. And really why didn't he think of that? Something is definitely wrong in the world when JJ is the one thinking with a clear and level head. 

Pope clears his throat, nods as nonchalantly as he can. "Right. Um. I'll do... that."

JJ smirks as Pope pulls his phone out of his pocket, trying to avoid any unnecessary physical contact. It's impossible. There's barely enough room to breathe, let alone maneuver his phone out and dial. It takes several rings for Kie to pick up and when she finally does she sounds out of breath.

"Did you get it?" she asks, referring to the perchlorate they're supposed to be stealing— _it's not stealing if our tax dollars paid for it_ JJ's voice rings through his head. Pope isn't convinced JJ has ever paid his taxes.

"Not exactly. We're kind of trapped in a closet."

There's a beat of silence before Kie responds.

"Is that a metaphor?"

"What? No, we had to hide in the janitor's closet but it won't open from the inside. Can you come let us out?"

Again, there's a pause before she says anything. This time she starts laughing, loud enough that Pope has to pull the phone away from his ear.

He refuses to look at JJ.

"Yeah, give me a few minutes," Kie manages to get out before abruptly ending the call.

"She's not coming any time soon," JJ says.

"Nope," Pope sighs. It's going to be a long fucking night, and he's already on edge for some reason he refuses to examine too closely. He tries to put the phone back in his pocket but there's not enough room to bend his elbow to get the angle right and the phone keeps slipping past the opening. He struggles with it a few more times, becoming increasingly more frustrated with each failed attempt in the suffocating heat of the closet, before JJ snatches the phone out of his hand wordlessly, pulling at Pope's pocket to slip it in easily. He doesn't look at Pope while he does it and he doesn't let his fingers linger and something about that, about the way JJ— _JJ of all people_ —is keeping his hands to himself breaks something in Pope. 

"Okay what the fuck is your problem?" he asks, voice louder than it needs to be, but JJ barely reacts, just shifts his weight from one foot to the other and sighs, like they've had this conversation a million times already and he's bored of it.

"What are you talking about?" he asks. Sighs, really. It's perfunctory.

It's _infuriating_.

"You've been acting like a dick all week, dude. Do you not want me here?"

JJ scoffs.

"Don't be stupid."

"Then why do you keep trying to get rid of me? Why are you acting like I have fucking cooties and I'm contagious. You won't even touch me–"

"You want me to touch you?"

And of course that's the thing he latches onto. Now he is looking at Pope, gaze equal parts predatory and amused and okay yeah maybe it was better when he was keeping his hands and his eyes to himself.

"Yes," Pope says, then shakes his head. "I mean no. I mean I... I just want–"

"What?" JJ asks, inching closer, his voice low, almost a whisper. "What do you want?"

Pope swallows and JJ's eyes track the movement before coming back up to rest on Pope's. 

And fuck what _does_ Pope want.

Twenty minutes ago he would've said to get the perchlorate for the fireworks and get out of here as quickly as possible. To make it through his entire stay in the OBX without getting into any actual trouble. To go back home and finish grad school.

And, jesus, when did he start thinking of New York as home?

There was a time when he couldn't conceive of any place that didn't have the pogues as a place he'd want to be. Hell, there was a time when he really thought they might just come with him wherever he went to college. But things change. People change. They grow up.

_Pope_ grew up.

He's not a kid anymore. And he's certainly not pining after any of his friends. He hasn't thought about Kie like that in years but there was a time, in the months after their break up, that it felt like things would never be okay again.

He's not going down that road again. Not with any of his friends. Certainly not because his traitorous dick has decided to take a trip down memory lane to when a shaggy blonde idiot factored heavily into his bisexual awakening.

No. His hands will remain at his sides and he'll will his dick into submission and—

"Pope." 

JJ's close enough now that their chests are touching, pressing against each other as they breathe in and out. And it's weird because Pope is taller, has got at least an inch on JJ, but right now it feels like JJ is towering over him, like he's taking up all the space and there's a part of Pope—some reckless, wild part deep down—that's screaming _more_. 

His fingers twitch at his sides as heat pools low in his stomach and it's not until JJ licks his lips that Pope realizes he's staring at them but he can't bring himself to tear his gaze away and maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing—to kiss JJ. Just this once. Here in this closet. It wouldn't even count, not really. He'd just be getting it out of his system. And it's not like JJ would care or think it means something it doesn't. JJ doesn't do relationships. Or feelings. JJ just does whatever feels good. And this would feel good. And yeah. Yeah. They should do this. They should be closer. So much closer. JJ's hands should be on him. JJ's hands used to always be on him. He wants them on him—

"Honey, I'm home." Kiara's amused voice booms loud through the small space as she yanks the door open with enough force to knock the flashlight over. JJ catches it before it can fall on Pope and then there's several feet between them, a chasm in the space where Pope's world was just knocked off it's axis.

But Kiara's laughing and JJ's pretending to be under duress and everything is back to normal.

_Except_. 

Except Pope feels a chill along his skin, in all the places JJ was pushed up against him.

Except Pope's mouth feels dry and he can't swallow.

Except JJ's laughter rings flat and he's not looking at Pope.

Except.

Except.

Except. 

He may have figured out how to control his dick but he's got no idea how to quiet the heavy pounding in his chest. It's going to be a long fucking week in the OBX.

**Author's Note:**

> i may keep writing in this here little 'verse if people are interested. i've got lots of Thoughts and Ideas. 
> 
> also i'm on tumblr at [hypermania](https://hypermania.tumblr.com/) blogging about jj's Sad Boy (heart eyes for pope) Hours if you want to come say hi


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